Cold Eggs

All who have accomplished great things have had a great aim, have fixed their gaze on a goal which was high, one which sometimes seemed impossible - Orison Swett Marden

This post is the one I've been wanting to do, meaning to do, for quite a long time now. It's about finally having the opportunity of freezing my eggs.

Dreaming Miracles is the written journey of my life as I try to make my dreams - falling in love, getting married, and having children of my own - come true (despite being the ripe old age of 47). As I've said before, you can get married at any age, but as things stand now (who knows what scientific breakthroughs will be available in the future) you only have a limited amount of time to become pregnant with your own eggs. At age 45 I didn't have a boyfriend, much less a husband, but my fertility was found to still be viable enough to freeze my eggs which was one thing that I thought I could do to keep my dreams alive.

Once I finally secured the $10,000 for the procedure, and the additional $3,500 dollars for the vials of hormonal medicines I would need to take, I made the appointment and travel arrangements. The fertility clinic I was going to was in the heart of the country - Chicago. Originally (and naively) I had thought that I would be able to do an overnight trip to Chicago to have the procedure done, but soon enough found out that I would need to be in Chicago for one week. At the time I was still taking care of my mother and she couldn't be left alone for that many days. I made arrangements to fly to my eldest sisters on a Saturday (basically to drop my mom off) and then fly to Chicago the next day.

I had passed through Chicago twenty-five years ago but had never spent any time there and outside of what was going on with the fertility clinic I wanted to make the most of my time in the city. It was extra money that I hadn't anticipated on having to spend on a weeks hotel stay and meals etc., but after getting over that I felt really excited.

I knew absolutely no one in Chicago so any fun or adventure I had would be on my own.

In the month before the trip I looked up what kinds of things I might do there. My visit would be around mid-September so I first looked up if the Chicago Cubs or White Sox baseball teams would be playing. I love watching sports and coming from a smaller town going to watch a professional sports team play in a giant stadium, eating stadium food, like brats, and drinking beers seemed like great fun (it wasn't until later that I found out the whole time I would be in Chicago, due to the procedure, no alcohol was permitted!). I found out the Cubs would be playing infamous Wrigley Field on Tuesday night and the White Sox had a game I could go to on Friday night (it was a minor detail in my mind that I would most likely be under anesthesia having eggs surgically removed from my ovaries that Friday morning). My plan was to go to the stadiums before the games and get a cheap "scalped" ticket.

I also found out U2 would be starting the North American leg of their 360º tour for two nights in Chicago, the second night's concert being the Sunday I arrived. The concert had sold out within minutes months ago but I found out that there were ticketing brokers that were selling seats and I could get a nosebleed one for $60. I was already way over my budget for this whole endeavor, I literally was going to be left with no money in my bank, but I decided this was one of those, maybe once-in-a-life-time, opportunities I shouldn't pass up. I bought the ticket.

For the three weeks leading up to going to Chicago I was giving myself the hormone shots and being monitored by a fertility clinic in my hometown. I don't remember having any stress or problems. I felt good.

With my limited budget in mind I used Priceline.com to bid on a four-star hotel for a two-star price. I looked on a map as to where I thought a good location was (remember I'm flying blind here. I don't know anyone in Chicago and this whole procedure is a secret from everyone but my mom and my sister so I can't ask anyone who has been there!). When you make a bid on Priceline it's kinda crazy because you don't know what hotel you're gonna get, only what rating it is considered and within a certian specified area. I decided that I would bid only the first two nights of my stay and if I liked the hotel I would request to have it for the rest of my stay, if possible.

So, as planned my mom and I flew to my sisters, I spent the night, and then the next day, Sunday, I flew on to Chicago.

When I landed I would have loved to take a cab, but I decided if I could figure out how to get into the city and to my hotel via the rail system that would be a lot cheaper. I started following the signs to the train platform and asked a fellow traveller if he had experience taking the train into the city, he said he had done it once and it was a little intimidating but turned out fine. So I decided to go for it. I picked up a map along the way, and found out I'd have to switch train lines and also take a bus in order to reach my hotel. The biggest obstacle was that I was loaded down with a huge suitcase and heavy backpack (which definitely proved less than ideal at the the station that had no elevator, only a massive amount of steps to climb to get out of it).

I proudly arrived in once piece to my "surprise" hotel which turned out to be situated right on the Chicago river, not far from the cities famous Navy Pier. The hotel was modern and beautiful, my room perfect.

I had just a few hours to rest before I had to make my way to Soldier Field for the U2 concert. Again, I got a map of the city and after an inquiry with the conceirge, decided I could again save some money and take a nice, long walk. It was just a short jaunt to Michigan Avenue and then I headed south. Shortly after I crossed over the Chicago River I was stopped at an intersection, waiting for the light to turn, and I ran into the guy I first spoke to hours before in the airport about taking the train into the city, and, believe it or not, I wasn't surprised. "Coincidence" like that happen to me all of time when I travel.

The further I walked down Michigan Avenue the more concerned I became about whether or not I would find Soldier Field and if I would make it there in time. I was confused and getting frustrated. I decided that if I could get a taxi for the rest of the way I would, but there were none available. I saw a couple who I sensed might be in the same predicament as me: trying to get to the concert and running out of time and when they flagged down a taxi I asked them if they were indeed headed to the concert and if so, could I join them in the cab? The taxi driver didn't seem keen with the arrangement, but the guy and his girlfriend were happy to oblige and when we did finally get through the traffic jam and arrived at the venue they wouldn't allow me to share the fare.

Being at Soldier Field with the excitement of seeing U2 in the air was amazing! I arrived at my seat in the nosebleed section with time to spare. Snow Patrol was the opening act. I sat an ate some stadium food (yum!) and took everything in. One thing I took in was that at the opposite end of the stadium just above the playing field was a whole block of empty seats. I wondered why that was and since I had plenty of time before U2 came on I decided I should go exploring -I wanted a better seat - my goal was the field.

I set off, going back down the spiraling concourse as the rest of humanity seemed to be on its way up. I got to the lowest level - the field level - and watched. There seemed to be two ways that people were able to get access to the field and both of them had heavy security. I ditched the field idea and worked my way towards that empty section that I had seen from my nosebleed seat. I saw that the reason the section was almost entirely empty was because one of the concert sponsors had a V.I.P. tent set up at the back of the field, right below that section, and it blocked most of the view of the stage. However, on the far left side of that area there were plenty of empty seats that still had a perfect view of the stage.

I saw that there was a young security guy that was checking tickets for that section, but with so few people sitting there, he didn't have much to do. I bided my time and just hung out close by. I watched all the people walking by on the concourse, while in my head I kept trying to figure out how I was going to get up the nerve to just ask the security guy if I could sit in the prime seats.

In my mind, I have the guts to take kind of risky, or sort of outrageous actions, but then, when I really have to step up and take the action, my nerves kick in, my chicken-shit quotient rises to pretty high levels, and then it's go time or not. I've had lots of go times, but this one was kinda stalling out. Everything in me was saying just ask him, but I was projecting my insecurities (I'm nearly 46, he's probably no more than 22, why would he let an "old" person in, it must seem weird to him that I'm by myself, etc., etc.) on him and really wasn't sure I could do it. And then... he came over to me and asked if I wanted to go and sit down in the front row of the section. It was a, woot! woot! moment.

Oh my gosh, it was amazing. I had an unobstructed view of the stage and the show was incredible! I guess the lesson for me was: you can be satisfied with what you have (and there's nothing wrong with that), but what does it hurt in trying to do something that allows you to attain and even better outcome? And in the final analysis, that seems to be the story of my life right now: trying to attain a better outcome than the one I'm currently presented with.

After the high of the concert I made my way to the long queue of busses that were picking up concertgoers and dispersing them throughout the city. I got on one going back up Michigan Avenue, which dropped me off just on the north-side of the Chicago river, then I walked the few blocks back to my hotel. My thoughts quickly turned to sleep and my first appointment at the fertility clinic in the morning.

Because I wasn't sure where the clinic was exactly, I decided, for sanity purposes, I would take a cab to get there. It turned out to be only about four miles north of my hotel. For my first appointment, and each day for the next four days, the clinic would be monitoring exactly where I was in my ovulation, how many eggs were developing, and the tracking of their growth. I had yet to meet the doctor, and wouldn't, until just before my procedure, which, if everything went as planned, was to start on Friday morning.

So, my mornings through lunch were basically spent getting to the clinic, waiting at the clinic, then getting my test done, and getting back to my hotel. My afternoons and evenings left me free to roam and explore Chicago.

As I mentioned earlier, I had only bid for my first two nights, Sunday and Monday, for the hotel I was at, but once I saw how nice and conveniently located it was, I definitely wanted to keep staying there. Unfortunately, the hotel was completely booked for two of the next four nights so I would have to bid (blindly) on another hotel. I wasn't looking forward to packing up my stuff and moving but that's exactly what I was going to have to do. I placed my Priceline bid and held my breath waiting to see if it was accepted and what hotel I would get. I got this one. After reading some of the customer reviews I was a little anxious, as many of them said the hotel, although rated four-star, was more like a three - the gist of the reviews was that it was looking its age and needed upgraded.

Nevertheless, that's where I was going. I packed my bags, took another cab ride and unloaded. When I checked in I requested not to be near the elevator so, that's exactly where they put me, in a dark interior room, next to the elevator. I went back to the front desk and asked to be moved and they offered me a different room. This time I walked into a lovely room, with a western-facing window that let bright sunlight in. It was perfect and the location, in a beautiful, old neighborhood just west of Lake Michigan and Chicago's famous Lake Shore drive, turned out to be ideal.

After I got checked in and explored my new neighborhood I took a rest before heading out to catch the rail line to Wrigley Field to watch the Cubs baseball team play that night. I didn't have a ticket to the game, but planned on getting a scalped nosebleed-section seat. A guy offered me a $10 ticket and I was in. There's really not a bad seat at Wrigley Field, it's such an intimate stadium, and mine turned out even better than expected. I loaded up on the stadium food, minus the cold beer I wanted, but couldn't have, and thoroughly enjoyed the game, the people-watching, and the night.

Wednesday rolled around and I had more evaluations at the clinic but on the bus ride back to my hotel I saw a huge farmer's market taking place in a park so I pulled the stop line to indicate I wanted off. I walked the farmer's market taste-testing delectable cheeses and other farm fare. Near the end of my loop around the event I saw a stand with gorgeous bunches of flowers and asked the seller for his best price - it was such a good quote I bought two bouquets. When I got back to the hotel I asked the girl at the front desk if they had two vases to put my flowers in, she said she would make the inquiries and within a twenty minutes I had the vases delivered to my room and the flowers beautifully displayed. It was just one of those small things that I did for myself to reminded me to be peace-filled and happy during this week of prodding and poking that was my morning ritual at the clinic.

The days at that time of year in Chicago were blissfully beautiful; blue skies, warm sunshine, light winds and gently cool nights. I walked for a couple of miles along Lake Michigan taking in all the afternoon outdoor activity: rollerbladers, bikers, runners, walkers, and even some brave swimmers. I ended up at Ohio Street Beach where I sat down, dug my feet in the soft warm sand, listened to my iPod and watched the late afternoon sun begin its descent over the Chicago skyline.

When I got back to my hotel there was a message left by my nurse liaison from the clinic letting me know that my egg retrieval procedure was set for 7:00 a.m. Friday morning. She also indicated that I had eighteen eggs at various developing stages and the doctor had been so impressed, considering my age - I was less than two weeks from my 46th birthday - that he had told her I was producing eggs like a "spring chicken."

Thursday, after my morning clinic visit, I happily used the rest of the day for shopping in, and around, the north-end of Michigan avenue, otherwise known as, the Magnificent Mile. Even though I didn't have any extra money to spend it was still a treat to go into the actual shops of all of those name-brand, high-end, shoe stores and clothing lines that I've seen in magazines.

When I was finished with my non-shopping, shopping spree I came upon the Arch-Diocese of Chicago's offices and inquired as to the closest church. I was directed to a church just a block or so away. I opened the doors to its cool darkness with the wafting smell of incense and the soft, glowing light of candles near the altar. I took a seat in a pew and prayed for the life, the cells, that would be gleaned from my body the next morning and asked for continued peace on my journey.

I had found out that the Art Institute of Chicago offers a free night at their museum on Thursday evenings so I road the bus down there. I didn't realize how amazing and extensive their collection was and thoroughly enjoyed my night out.

Friday morning's wake up call was for 5:15 a.m. I had looked at the bus schedule for that time of day and because busses didn't run as often as they would later, I wanted to make sure I gave myself plenty of time for Murphy's Law. And it's a good thing I did, because no busses were stopping at the bus stop I was waiting at - the busses came up the road and then just whizzed right by me. Finally, I decided to walk a few blocks south and waited at another bus stop. When a bus finally came, even though it wasn't the one I was "supposed" to catch, I told the driver where I was trying to get to and he said this bus would take me close enough. I let loose a big sigh of relief and stepped on.

I actually got to the clinic about a half hour early and instead of checking in, I decided to take a walk around the old, tree-lined neighborhood across the street. I was feeling anxious about the upcoming procedure, going under anesthesia, the outcome, etc. It was such a lovely morning and I found a nice little place to sit and listen to my iPod while taking in the morning waking up.

Finally, my time had come. I checked in at the clinic and got prepped for the egg retrieval. Keep in mind that, although I had talked to the doctor once on the phone, the rest of my contacts up to this point had been with his staff. I had not met him, and I wouldn't, until just before I was to go under.

One of the prime things on my mind was to tell him to make sure that along with any mature eggs he pulled out he got immature ones as well and that he also include any germinal vesicle cells. And that's exactly what I did. He questioned me as to why I would want the GV cells, basically telling me it wasn't worth it - they wouldn't be viable. But I had read some research that suggested otherwise and my outlook was to the future - GV's might not be viable now, but who knew what technology would allow for in the future. I made him promise that he would get the GV's as well and then the mask was placed over my nose and mouth and I was out.

I woke up groggily in another room with the nurse telling me I could get dressed. I was told the procedure was a success, that the doctor had retrieved six mature eggs, two immature ones and one germinal vesicle for a total of nine. My heart sank. What had happened? Why were so few eggs retrieved when I was told so many more had been developing?

I was still so out of it from the procedure. I was placed in a wheel chair in an alcove along the hallway. I had been given a blanket to keep me warm and I immediately pulled the blanket over my head and cried uncontrollably. The spicket was turned on full blast. A nurse came by and told me that I couldn't keep the blanket over my head because it kept me from being monitored properly. I let it fall to my chest where it got soaked with tears.

The nurse anesthesiologist, a young, nice guy, came by letting me know my crying was probably due to the enormous hormone surges that were taking place in my body. I blubbered out to him that my heartbrokenness was because the doctor had retrieved so few eggs. He tried to assure me by saying it only takes one good egg to make a baby. But in my mind, because everyone says that your egg quality diminishes with age, and because this would, due to the cost, be my one and only chance at egg retrieval, I wailed at him, "But I'm almost 46 years old!" Nothing consoled me. At that moment it was if I had fought a battle, came close to winning, and lost.

The reason I was sitting in the hall in the first place was because I wasn't allowed to leave the procedure by myself. I had to have someone not only pick me up from the clinic, but I was also required to have someone stay with me for four hours after the procedure to make sure that I was medically okay. I had told one of the clinic's administrators that I would be on my own while in Chicago and they put me in touch with a private home health care company that would send an employee to meet me at the clinic to pick me up after the procedure and would go back to the hotel to stay with me until the afternoon. Because the administrator knew I was already on a tight budget she was allowing me to stay at the clinic longer to avoid having to pay out even more money to the home health care people.

And so, an hour and a half after my procedure I was told someone was in the waiting room ready to pick me up. It definitely was less than my ideal to have a stranger come with me to my hotel room and care for me, but that's exactly what happened. Thankfully, I felt comfortable with the nice Indian women who was assisting me, and I basically just slept for the next three hours, after which time I felt awake and good enough to let her take off early.

I was debating whether or not I would be able to go to Comiskey Park (now U.S. Cellular Field) to see the White Sox baseball game that night. I had been told by the clinic to take it easy for the next 24 hours and I was still sore, but it was Friday, my last night in Chicago and I wasn't going to miss out.

Around 5 p.m. I walked to the subway and caught a train to the stadium. When I got there I couldn't find anyone scalping tickets, only people trying to buy them. I went to check out how much it would cost to just purchase a ticket outright and the cheapest they had was $25 - way more than I wanted to pay.

I walked around the other side of the stadium trying to figure out my strategy. I didn't really have the energy or the chutzpah to yell out to the random people passing by if anyone had a ticket for sale. Then I saw a guy who was yelling out he needed tickets and I walked up to him asking where the best place to find one was. He said something but I couldn't understand him and then he took off. I tried to follow him because I felt like he was going to find someone selling tickets, but in my condition, I knew I couldn't keep up, so I just kept standing where I was, expectantly looking around at all the fans passing by. Every once in awhile I'd catch someone's eye and ask if they had an extra ticket, but no one did.

Sometimes it feels so lonely to be by yourself. This was one of those times. I was in a city far from home, where I didn't know anyone, I was trying to get into a game without a ticket, and everyone passing by seemed to be with friends and family excited to share their Friday night together.

And then out of the blue the guy that had been looking to buy tickets, the one I had tried to follow but couldn't keep up with, was next to me giving me a ticket. I asked him how much and he said, "Nothing." He had found the tickets, there was an extra one and he wanted me to have it. So, the next thing I know, ticket in hand, I'm walking into Comiskey Field to watch the Sox play ball. And because it hadn't cost me anything to get in I had plenty of money to buy my beloved stadium food, even the Cracker Jack guy got my business that night. It was the perfect ending to my last night in Chicago.

The next day, Saturday, I hauled my luggage and backpack to the rail line several blocks away, took one train to another, managed to get the wrong one, going the wrong way, but still, thankfully, made it to the airport in time to catch my flight.

Getting some of my eggs frozen was a dream that I was determined to realize. It wasn't an easy journey, but I took it. It remains to be seen what the outcome will be. I find myself praying for those frozen cells, my eggs, that they have health and vitality, that they know of God's love and my love for them, and that they feel the joy of being so dearly desired. They are of this world just waiting for the their time to be in my world.

The end of this story is just the beginning of another... the next chapter: finding their father.